


Officer Friendly

by Island_of_Reil



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Chair Sex, Cunnilingus, Dubious Consent, F/M, Sexual Inexperience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 13:50:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1472170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Island_of_Reil/pseuds/Island_of_Reil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Armin needs a dossier out of MP HQ. Hitch is guarding the archives. <i>"Tell you what, Armin. You give me something I want, I give you something you want."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Officer Friendly

**Author's Note:**

> [Kinkmeme prompt.](http://snkkink.dreamwidth.org/8414.html?thread=7678174#cmt7678174) Not beta'ed; any errors are my own.

The tall, broad-shouldered MP led Armin down the stairs into the basement, then along a dimly lit corridor lined with yellowing tile. He stopped at a heavy black door and knocked twice, sharply.

“Come in,” a bored-sounding feminine voice called from behind it.

The MP swung the door open on its creaking hinges. Behind the desk in front of the archival shelves sat a sandy-haired young woman — a girl, really; she didn’t look much older than Armin — with her feet up on it and her arms behind her head.

“Hey, Hitch,” the male MP said, his expression turning lascivious as he swept his eyes over her. Armin noticed that her position thrust her breasts out against her shirt and made her trousers, tucked tightly into her boots, strain around her thighs.

“Yeah?” she said, completely unabashed, grinning slyly and drawing her own eyes up and down her colleague’s well-made frame.

“This kid wants a dossier off you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t they all. Thanks, Wilhelm... I think.”

“You can thank me for it later,” Wilhelm said, continuing to leer at her.

Hitch’s grin broadened; with her elongated eyes and small, pointed nose, it made her look very much like a cat. “Don’t hold your breath.”

With a smirk, Wilhelm turned and left. As soon as the door closed behind him, Hitch’s expression reverted to one of boredom. She gave Armin a brief look, up and down, and was very clearly unimpressed.

He didn’t owe her a salute but he pressed his fist to his heart anyway; it couldn’t have hurt. “Cadet Armin Arlert, graduate of the 104th Trainees Squad.”

She arched one light-brown eyebrow. “They’re taking nine-year-olds in the Survey Corps now?”

He’d gotten used to comments like that. “No, Officer. I’m fifteen, like any other cadet.”

Her grin was back, but there was not even a pretense to friendliness in it now. “Huh. I didn’t know a boy could make it to fifteen without his balls dropping first.”

Armin’s face went hot. He expected the Military Police to be unhelpful and rude, but not to that degree. Managing to keep his voice level and his expression neutral, he said, “I’m here on business for Captain Levi. He wants the MP dossier on the incident from 844 involving Eren Jaeger and Mikasa Ackerman.”

“I’m sure he does,” Hitch drawled. She didn’t make the slightest move to get up and retrieve the dossier, just continued to grin at Armin. Several seconds passed in what were, for him, tense silence.

“Well…” he began again. “May I have it, please?”

“I dunno,” she said. “Do I have a good reason to give it to you?”

Armin stared at her in surprise. “It’s a public record, Officer. Even if it weren’t, the Survey Corps certainly has the authority to order the Military Police to share it with us.”

“No, darling, that’s where you’re wrong.” She seemed exceedingly pleased about whatever she was about to tell him next. “The Military Police have full discretion to decide which dossiers the public may see and which they don’t need to see. The Survey Corps is a domain of public safety, for a very loose definition of ‘public safety,’ which outside the Walls enjoys full discretion in running its own affairs but inside them is subordinate to the Military Police. In other words, for the purposes of this matter we have jurisdiction over you, but the converse does not apply.”

Armin frowned. “I see.” He didn’t see. She was lying through her teeth, probably because she could and because she enjoyed playing this sort of game. Accusing her to her face wouldn’t get him anywhere, and neither would appealing to her colleagues or even, necessarily, her superiors. “You said you’d need a ‘good reason’ to give it to me. What sort of reason would be a good one, in your opinion?”

Hitch blinked and tilted her head to one side. He couldn’t figure out if she was contemplating the matter or if she’d already had an idea in mind.

Finally she asked, “You’re really fifteen?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. It was a little harder now to suppress his irritation.

She stared at him full in the eye for a moment. He resisted the impulse to squirm. It wasn’t like being stared hard at by someone like Levi or Shadis, who sought out your weaknesses in order to extirpate them — not to exploit them.

“What’d you say your name was again?”

“Armin Arlert, ma’am.”

Her voice, unexpectedly, dropped in pitch. “Do you like girls, Armin?”

It was his turn to blink. “Um… I don’t see how that’s relevant—”

“Answer my question,” she said, voice still low but with a sharp note in it now.

“Yes,” he said. Not _only_ girls, but she hadn’t asked him that and he wasn’t going to volunteer it.

The extreme ends of her grin seemed to reach her ears. “Tell you what, Armin. You give me something I want, I give you something you want.” She removed one arm from behind her head and began to unbutton her shirt.

Even Eren could’ve figured out where this was going. Ignoring the sudden, surprising, and entirely unwelcome tightness in his chest and belly, Armin said, “I think not, Officer. Maybe Captain Levi will decide to have a few words with your superior instead.”

Hitch laughed, the sound light and melodic and full of contempt. “Really? You think Levi’s going to be pleased with you if you come back empty-handed? You signed up for a career of throwing yourself at titans. What’s the speech Erwin gives to new recruits — half of you will be dead within two years, something like that? You think it’s gonna bother them at all if you have to … do a favor for an MP if it’ll help you carry out their orders?”

Armin stood silently for a moment, thinking. She could have been lying again. But even if she weren’t… any time that Levi or Erwin spared to deal with the MPs would be time lost from training, from reviewing Hange’s research notes, from obtaining funding in the Capitol. Time that could cost lives.

Easier to go along with it. He didn’t like this officer, but judging from his body’s reaction when she’d put her hands to her buttons, that wouldn’t be an obstacle.

“All right,” he said. “But—”

“But what?”

He licked his lips. “I’m… not that experienced.”

She smirked. “Yeah, there’s a big surprise. Virgin?”

“Well…” The various things he’d done with Eren or Jean weren’t pertinent to this conversation, but back in training he and Annie had necked and petted quite a bit. They hadn’t fucked because a pregnancy was the last thing anybody in the Trainee Corps needed. He’d tried to go down on her once, but judging from her reaction he hadn’t made a very good job of it.

“So that’s a yes, then. But that’s fine, darling.” He thought then that he’d rather have Levi call him _you shitty brat_ all afternoon than have Hitch call him _darling_ even once. “Secure the deadbolt on the door. We don’t need anyone walking in on us… unless you _want_ another MP in on the scene. I could definitely go for that, but I dunno about you, especially if it’s a guy.”

Armin, his face burning, was glad to have an excuse to turn away from her. The deadbolt shot into place with a heavy, decisive click. When he turned to face Hitch again, she swept her legs off the desk, pushed her chair back, and stood. Swinging both arms in a dramatic gesture toward the chair, she grinned again. “Have a seat, Armin.”

Warily, he moved around to the back of the desk and sat. It was a heavy, high-backed desk chair on wheels, the armrests open L-shapes of steel and the well-padded leather upholstery still warm from her body. His head didn’t come up to the top of the back.

Hitch, her eyes fixed on his and her tongue playing at her lips, continued to unbutton her shirt. Her breasts, cupped in her brassière, were round and high, her belly flat.

Armin’s throat felt thick and his trousers suddenly tight. He was actually going to do this. The situation didn’t seem completely real. He wished the first woman he’d ever be inside would have been Annie, not an asshole MP with a thing for sexual extortion. He reminded himself that he was doing this for the Corps, and therefore for humanity, so at least there was some meaning to it.

Hitch had just shrugged out of her shirt and tossed it over the front right edge of the desk. She removed her boots and stockings, setting them off to the side, and her hands moved to the buttons of her trousers. Armin watched her tug the waistband down past the flare of her hips and push the garment down over her slender thighs. Her panties, like her brassière, were sheer and white.

Leaving the trousers in a pile on the floor, she moved back toward the chair. _Cat,_ Armin thought again, _stalking prey._ Without warning she launched herself into his lap, threading her legs through the armrests and bracing her feet against the underside of the seat. With a hand on either side of his head she pulled it toward hers.

For such an unpleasant person her kiss was soft, coaxing, and thorough. Armin had already begun to get hard watching her undress. Now, with her warm weight on his lap and the flowery scent of her cologne in his nostrils, her tongue gently sweeping through his mouth and her lips working feather-light against his, he felt like he had a Gear blade in his trousers. He laid his palms flat against her back, pulling her in. Hitch made a soft, smug coo of discovery in her throat, and she broke off the kiss to gaze down at him with another knowing grin as she began to undulate against his erection. He closed his eyes and groaned.

She laughed quietly and huskily, then dug her hands into his hair and kissed him harder than before, pushing her breasts into his chest as well as purposefully squirming against his groin. When she pulled back the second time her cheeks were flushed, her pupils wide. Armin found it hard to catch his breath.

Her arms moved around to her back, and the brassière came away in her hands. She flung it in the direction of her shirt, then cupped her hands beneath her breasts and pushed them upward. The nipples were a dark, dusty-pink color, hard and pointed and with little raised bumps in the circles around them.

Annie had made the same gesture to Armin more than once. He leaned forward and took one nipple between his lips, bringing one hand around to splay it against the side of Hitch’s breast. He’d been a little better at this than at trying to eat Annie out, and he experimented to see if Hitch liked what Annie had. She didn’t seem as fond of his use of teeth, which Annie had insisted on, but when he sucked hard or licked the very tips of her nipples she fairly purred. She moved his hands to his shoulders, and he cupped both of her breasts now, alternating between nipples, listening to her moan and feeling her shudder against his thighs.

“Fuck,” she said in a low growl. “Not bad for a virgin. I don’t suppose you’ve ever gone down before, have you?”

 _Better to just lie about that,_ he thought. “No,” he said breathlessly.

“First time for everything.” She pulled her legs back through the openings under the armrests and sprung back onto her feet. The panties dropped off her faster than her trousers had, revealing an inverted triangle of soft-looking brown hair. She hopped up onto the edge of the desk, drawing her knees up. Armin pulled the chair up closer to her and gripped the desk between her feet, gazing into her.

“You gonna stare at it all afternoon, or are you gonna lick it?” she demanded.

With a mental shrug he leaned forward, anchored his hands against the outsides of her thighs, and buried his face between them. The folds of her cunt were slippery-wet and smelled musky-sweet. Kind of like Annie smelled, but slightly different. Experimenting, he drew the flat of his tongue firmly down her center, then up again. She shifted from one buttock to the other; he wasn’t sure if that were a good or bad sign or if she were just rebalancing herself on the desk. He repeated the stroke of his tongue, down and up.

“What are you, a deer at a salt lick?” Hitch snapped.

“I _told_ you I’ve never done this before,” he replied testily, his voice a little muffled. Okay, sure, he was enjoying this… kind of. But this wasn’t his choice, he was doing exactly what she’d told him to do, and she knew he wasn’t exactly an expert at this.

“Okay. You use the tip of your tongue, with a lot less pressure. Otherwise it gets numb really fast. Go slower, too. I know you want to get out of here with the dossier but it’s not going anywhere if you don’t get me off. Put a finger or two in me after a few moments; that feels good. Also?” She pushed his head away, then parted her inner lips with two fingers. “That little round thing at the top there? It’s called a clit—”

“I know,” he said automatically.

“Yeah, but you don’t know what to _do_ with it, do you? Give it more attention. But it’s a lot more sensitive than a cock, so _gentle_ attention. Lick the skin around it, too.”

Armin nodded, then took a deep breath and lowered his head again. She was still holding herself open. He circled her clit with the tip of his tongue, not touching it directly.

“Mmmph. Yeah,” Hitch rasped, arching herself upward and smearing her wetness over the tops of his cheekbones. His cock throbbed pleasurably, his gut clenched unpleasantly, and he realized he needed air. With a palm flat atop each of her thighs he pushed her back down, then sucked in a breath before pressing his face into her again.

For the first several minutes it was more experimentation. Tracing the inner lips produced some interesting squirming on Hitch’s part, but not much more noise than heavy breathing. When he licked the edges of her vaginal opening, her hips jerked upward and she made little yelping gasps — and Armin got a mouthful of viscous, musky-sweet fluid. If it’d been Annie’s wetness it would have been simply arousing, but it was Hitch’s, making it arousing and discomfiting at the same time, and making the entire situation feel more unpleasantly real.

He choked it down and resumed licking around the inner lips as he slipped his forefinger into her. She made an approving murmur, and he could feel her clench around it. Hot… and wrong. Trying to ignore the feeling of wrongness, he inserted a second finger alongside the first. “Oh, fuck,” Hitch sputtered, pushing back against his hand until it was soaked and he could feel the hardness of bone behind the soft engorged flesh.

After the sixth or seventh time she’d rocked forward against him, he felt her fingers tighten in his hair, yanking his head fractionally upward. He knew she’d said _gentle attention_ , but maybe if he went a little harder than she probably had in mind, she’d come faster and he could get out of there faster. 

He tried scraping the edge of his front teeth delicately over her clit. She screeched; he didn’t know if that were good or bad, but the forceful clenching around his fingers had to be a positive sign… didn’t it? Figuring that a second scrape would leave her numb, he played the tip of his tongue around the little nub, just barely touching the edges of it. The results were a rhythmic series of moans and Hitch all but humping his face. He pushed her back from him, coughing and wheezing, and when he’d caught his breath again he decided to go in for the kill: He swept her clit up between his lips and sucked hard at it.

Hitch grunted hard, a noise that segued into a loud moan, which morphed into a kind of strangled shout. Armin had a feeling he might be applying too much pressure, but she wasn’t complaining or trying to stop him, so he continued to suck at her clit and pull on it with his lips while she thrashed on the desk and made more noises that were hot and wrong and _loud_ and _holy shit, aren’t the other MPs gonna think I’m trying to kill her and break down the door?!_

Eventually she shuddered hard and made one more sound, something like a squeak. Though she was still gripping the edge of the desk, she sagged limply into him. He pushed her backward, shoved the chair back from the desk, and sat back, staring at her. Her face was beet-red, her breasts bright pink and heaving as she panted, and just about all of her glistened with sweat. The spot on the desk just under the juncture of her thighs looked damp.

Armin’s mouth was slightly open, and he was aware that his own breathing was far from even. His trousers felt like they were about to burst. He wanted … to get the dossier and get the hell out of MP HQ. And then go find somewhere private to jerk off. Yeah. That sounded like a plan.

Then Hitch’s eyes opened. She grinned again, that predator grin, and hopped off the desk. With one arm around the back of the chair, she leaned over Armin, cupped the distended front of his trousers, and drew her hand firmly over it. He didn’t so much cry out as shout, the sound ringing off the metal of the archival shelves.

“You want the dossier now?” she murmured.

“Y-yes,” he gasped, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. A bead of sweat ran out of his hair and down his cheek. “The dossier.”

“You’re full of shit, Armin.” She bent down a little further and sucked his left earlobe into her mouth, then let it slide out slowly. He whimpered. “You’re not going to go back to Survey Corps HQ, at least not right away. You’re going to rub one out first, aren’t you? You’re probably not going to even make it upstairs, let alone out the door here — you’ll go hide in a supply closet instead. Why don’t you let me take care of it for you?” She ran her tongue around the outer curve of the same ear, eliciting further pitiful noises from Armin. “I’m all nice and wet now, thanks to you,” she purred. “It’ll feel good. Real good. Much better than a fist full of callouses and no oil. And I’m a damn good lay, or so I’ve been told.”

Something dimly occurred to him through the haze of lust. “Told by how many people?” he groaned. It’d be kind of ironic if he’d survived Shinganshina, two years in the refugee camp, three years of training, and battle with titans, only to die of something hideous he’d caught from the first, maybe the only, woman he ever fucked.

“Tch. Such a tender, romantic thing to say to the person who’s about to fuck your brains out. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and presume you’re asking me whether I’m clean. The answer is yes. Commander Dawk makes sure I get checked regularly.” 

Armin had a good idea _why_ Commander Dawk made sure of that, but he kept it to himself. He could imagine Hitch throwing the dossier at his head and telling him he could go jerk off in a supply closet after all. “What about pregnancy?” he croaked. 

She climbed up onto the chair again, a knee against the leather seat on either side of his lap. “Oh, the medic would take care of that, too. Got any more questions?” The capability for coherent speech was deserting him, so he just shook his head. “Good.” Her hands were at the buttons of his flies. “Let’s see what you got in here… _ooh_. Won’t break any records, but that’s better than I expected for a kid your size.”

He opened his eyes to give her a look of incredulity. His voice seemed to have returned for the moment. “You didn’t build your reputation as a ‘damn good lay’ on sweet talk, did you?”

“Bright boy.” Then Armin forgot all about the backhanded compliment, because her right hand was around his cock and she was squeezing it with just the right amount of pressure. Grabbing the armrests with white-knuckled hands, he threw his head back and made an O-shape with his mouth. Nothing came out except a faint sound reminiscent of a rusted hinge.

Hitch moved the tip of her forefinger just under the head and tickled the spot lightly. Armin screwed his eyes shut again and arched into her hand, keening softly when she pulled it away. “Yeah, you’re ready,” she said, her voice low and rough. She squatted lower over his lap and slid first one leg, then the other under the armrests again. Her left hand dipped between her thighs while her right curled itself again around his cock.

He gasped at the first contact, then moaned in abandon as Hitch worked him inside her and slid downward until her bare ass bumped against his clothed thighs. Her cunt wasn’t quite as tight as a mouth, but it was hotter, almost shockingly so, the flesh softer and the wetness more slippery, and the force of her inner muscles around his cock made his whole body twitch hard.

Her mouth found a spot on the side of his neck that, when she bit down hard, made him buck again, driving further into her. “Still wish you’d gone and jerked off in a supply closet?” she huffed against his ear.

“Would you just shut up and fuck me?” he gasped.

“Demanding little bastard.” She bit a different spot, making Armin squeal. Then, her hands on his shoulders, she rose upward from the seat until only the head of his cock was lodged inside her — and slammed herself back down onto his lap. Even under their combined weight the chair jolted backward and forward again on its springs, Armin’s head banging into the padded leather back hard enough to hurt a little.

He grabbed her ass to steady her thrusts. He had seen only a little of it when she was perched on the desk, but in his hands it felt round and soft. Not as muscular as Annie’s. _Desk job_ , he thought. He was vaguely glad of that difference. Then he stopped thinking about that or about pretty much anything else as Hitch ground down against him and squeezed him almost hard enough to expel him. 

The fog of pleasure thinned a bit as his head struck the back of the chair again and the springs protested loudly. “Oi, be careful!” he exclaimed.

“I’ve fucked men twice your size in this chair,” she panted. “In all senses of the word ‘size.’ It’s never overturned once.”

Looking at her just after she’d come, and then feeling her slide down over him, had pushed the sordidness of this whole encounter to the back of Armin’s mind. Mostly. That last remark of hers was tipping the hot–wrong balance toward wrong again. It wasn’t enough to make him go soft; he seemed to have a pretty high tolerance for this kind of wrong. But it was enough to kill the impulse to just sit back and lose track of time and let Hitch fuck him stupid. He wanted to get off, get the dossier, and get out. To get Hitch off again too, if that was what it took.

He tightened his grip on her ass and began to thrust back. She gave a little shriek and changed her rhythm so that they slammed together, hard, at the peak of his upstroke and the bottom of her downstroke. It hurt, and it forced all the breath out of Armin’s lungs, but Hitch’s grunt didn’t sound entirely like one of pain, and she tightened around him again. After a second jarring collision he slid down in the chair a little and lifted his hips so that at least they wouldn’t be driving into each other’s pubic bones. Hitch leaned forward over him and, on her next thrust, gasped loudly. Almost at once she began to move faster and harder, digging her nails into his shoulders. “Oh, shit — I’m gonna come again—” she grated. 

Armin realized all of a sudden that he wouldn’t be far behind. He held still and grit his teeth as he watched her turn bright pink once more, her eyes closed and her lips pulled back in a snarl. He had to shut his eyes too when she let out a string of choked-off moans and began to spasm around him. As soon as she slumped loosely against him, he started to thrust upward into her again, driving hard and wild. On the fourth stroke he cried out loudly and pulled her tight against him as everything inside him went white-hot and liquid.

Still shuddering, he threw himself back in the chair, letting his head thump hard against the back and barely feeling it through the roar of his pulse and the gale of his breathing. Hitch was pressed up against his chest and belly, a sticky film of sweat between their skins, her chin in the crook of his neck. Her cunt was still pulsing around him, and it was starting to feel unbearable. “Get off me,” he wheezed, pushing at her hips.

“What a gentleman you are.” Hitch had her breath back; her tone was about the same now as it had been when he’d first asked her for the dossier. But she levered herself off his body immediately, pulling her legs out from under the armrests and getting back onto her feet.

She yanked the top left drawer of the desk open. It was piled with handkerchiefs, cheap ones, soft with repeated use and washings. Something else about which Armin decided to keep his thoughts to himself. Hitch tossed a handkerchief into his lap, then grabbed another and began to dab between her legs with it. He blotted at the fluids that both of them had left on his now-softened cock and in his pubic hair, grimacing and twitching a little.

She tossed her soiled handkerchief to the floor under the desk. “What was that dossier you wanted again?”

“Oh — uh, on the 844 incident involving Eren Jaeger and Mikasa Ackerman.”

“Give me a minute.” She turned and disappeared, bare-assed, into the forest of towering shelves. Armin took a second handkerchief out of the drawer and wiped his face, mouth and hands on it, then tucked himself back into his trousers and buttoned them up. After a moment’s consideration, he threw both damp cloths under the desk, right atop hers.

He got to his feet, pushing the chair back up against the desk. About a minute later, Hitch returned with a black portfolio under her arm. With a smug, unearned grin of accomplishment she held it out to him as if she were presenting him with rare jewels on a platter of gold. 

Gingerly he took it, flipping it open to make sure it was the right one. Whichever MP had filled out the report had atrocious handwriting, but Armin could easily make out Eren’s and Mikasa’s names in the scrawl, and the date looked correct. 

He snapped it shut and tucked it under his arm. “Thank you,” he said curtly as he walked to the door and turned the deadbolt. He didn’t think she deserved any thanks at all, but the words had come out automatically.

“No problem. Oh, and Armin?”

He turned around again. Hitch had gotten her panties back on and was rebuttoning her trousers over them; her breasts were still bare. She grinned — no, _leered_ at him. “Any time the Survey Corps wants another dossier off us, you come to me again, darling. I’ll make sure you get _everything you need._ “ The wink that followed was about as subtle as a titan trying to climb over a Wall.

He glared at her, wishing looks could actually kill, before he turned his back on her and walked out. He didn’t slam the door behind him, but he made no effort to close it gently, either.

He didn’t need to find a supply closet now, but still, the first thing he’d do upon returning to Survey Corps HQ would _not_ be to find Captain Levi. It would be to leave the dossier in a safe place, then go take a very long, very hot shower. During which he was _not_ going to jerk off. Probably. 

But if he did, he _certainly_ wasn’t going to think about Hitch. Probably.


End file.
